


Todentanz

by la_topolina



Series: The Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Continuity [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Love/Hate, Marriage, Origin Story, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21710749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_topolina/pseuds/la_topolina
Summary: When Eileen Prince met Tobias Snape, he felt like the answer to a prayer.Sometimes feelings lie.
Relationships: Eileen Prince/Tobias Snape
Series: The Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Continuity [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745833
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Todentanz

I. Anziehung

(Attraction)

17 September 1955

The Mill House Pub was one of three buildings in the whole of Cokeworth that had escaped the Blitz unscathed; the other two being the Priory and, ironically, the eponymous Mill that had been the target of the whole bloody business. There was a handwritten sign in the smudged window boasting of this feat, alongside a companion proclaiming that, unlike the Priory, the Pub was open 365 days a year. She was a stout little thing, her brick and mortar facade squatting in her space a few blocks south of the church, unashamed to be seen in the company of her pious sister. She knew as well as anybody that even the pious could use a drink from time to time. 

Eileen and Clytemnestra Prince were availing themselves of the delicacies of this establishment on a Saturday evening warm with the illusion of a summer that promised to last forever. Their dinner of fish and chips littered the grease-splotched newsprint that covered the worn-down table in the corner. The ladies were not so pure as to be ashamed to be seen in the bosom of such a place, but neither were they so worldly that they were unaffected by the thrill of unsavoriness that dwelt between those beer-stained walls. They patronized the place often enough that they considered this corner booth to be “theirs,” but not so often that they were on a first name basis with any of the washed-up millworkers who seemed permanently affixed to the stools at the bar. But as plain and coarse as the Mill House surely was—she was honest—at least give her that.

“Mother would flip if she saw us here, wouldn’t she?” giggled Cly, her face made even more rosy than usual by the warmth of the night and the weak ale from the tap.

“Mother likes to be miserable,” Eileen replied. “Our being difficult is an act of mercy. If we weren’t, she’d have to make up things to complain about.”

“I think you’re right!” Cly downed the last drops of her first pint and started drumming her fingers on the table the way she did when she had something weighing on her conscience.

“What have you done now?” Eileen asked. Cly liked to beat around the bush, and Eileen would rather have the bad news all at once.

“Nothing!”

“You’re a bad liar, Cly. Out with it.”

“Nothing bad, anyway.” Cly flicked one of the discarded chips, sending it skittering across the table and into the abyss of the sticky, splintery floor. “Marge is going to be here in about ten minutes. I told her she could join us tonight.”

Eileen grimaced. Marge was an overbearing know-it-all who had worked as a midwife a year longer than Eileen and Cly had—and never let them forget it. “Did you have to?”

“I did. She cornered me in the clinic after lunch on Wednesday and told me such a tale of lonely woe that I had to invite her along. But that’s not the worst of it.”

“There’s more?”

“There is.” Cly had finished shooting chips off the table and turned her attention to trying to flag down the harried barman so that she could avoid Eileen’s mocking stare. “She’s bringing her brother Tom along, and he’s bringing a few of his mates who work down at the mill.”

Eileen's eyebrow went up, and her amusement with her sister disappeared.

“Put that eyebrow away!” Cly laughed, unable to avoid Eileen’s glare any longer. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t come if I did. And I didn’t want to be left to fend for myself in a pack of Cokeworth lowlifes.”

“I think you could handle yourself just fine. Especially in a pack of Cokeworth lowlifes.” Eileen’s stomach was already twisting itself into uncomfortable knots around the heavy dinner. She was no good at small talk, and she’d rather read tea leaves or decipher advanced ancient runes homework than try to divine what strangers were thinking, or the right way to react to them.

“Then stay for yourself. You spend all your time working, and when you’re off work, you spend all your time with your nose in a book or practicing your hocus pocus. It’s not good for you! You need to relax.”

Eileen crossed her arms over her lean, angular frame as though she were setting a Shield Charm in place. “Reading and research make me relax. Not meeting strangers in a noisy, dirty pub.”

Cly opened her cornflower blue eyes wide, and her pert little mouth shaped itself into a sweet little pout. “Please Eileen? For me? I’ll make shepherd’s pie tomorrow night if you do.”

Although she tried to maintain her ill humor, it was impossible against such an onslaught. Eileen covered her involuntary smile by finishing her ale and gave in to the inevitable. “Oh, fine. I’ll stay. But I know you only want me to so that you’ll look better by comparison.”

“Will you stop!” Cly laughed, swatting at her sister across the table. “I would _kill_ to have your perfect complexion and that mane of hair. You look like Snow White out of the fairy story.”

“I’m fairly certain that Snow White didn’t have a nose like this,” Eileen countered, tapping the end of her most hated feature with the end of a long, neatly manicured finger. Much as she loved her grandfather Severus, she did wish that she hadn’t inherited his aquiline nose.

“Maybe not, but she also wasn’t as smart as you are. Never mind that you can do magic. Maybe I would trade noses if it meant I got some powers in the bargain,” Cly teased. “What do you say? Should we see if there’s a witch somewhere who’d make the switch?”

Eileen gave her sister a real smile and shook her head. “Not on your life. I’ll keep my magic and my nose, thank you very much.”

“I’m going to remind you that you said that next time you complain about your face. It’s stately. Pretty even, when you bother to smile.”

“I suppose.”

“Look, there’s Marge and the others. Marge!” 

Cly waved enthusiastically and Eileen had to make a concentrated effort not to shrink down into the back of the booth during the ensuing chaos. Her head started spinning during the whirl of introductions, hand shaking, and the ordering of pints and food. Soon the table was crowded with chipped beer mugs and a mountain of fish and chips. Marge, a buxom woman with a penchant for talking loudly while making sweeping hand gestures that put everything in reach in danger, had Eileen penned in the corner of the booth. Within minutes Eileen was finding it difficult to breathe, and she gripped her pint between her hands until her knuckles turned white and the condensation on the sides of it trickled over her fingers.

“Eileen, I’ve been wanting you to meet my brother Tom here,” Marge said in a voice like a seal barking. “Tom, this is Eileen. She likes to read all the time like you do.”

“That’s good!” Tom said, leaning around his sister to offer Eileen a friendly smile. He was on the positive side of plain, and appeared to be a man of solid good sense. “Does Marge rib you about it the way she does me?”

“No,” Eileen said slowly, examining these pleasantries as though they were a puzzle and she were missing a piece. “But I know that Marge isn’t much of a reader.”

“That’s an understatement!” Marge put in before returning to her conversation with Cly across the table. How Marge and Cly were able to keep up multiple threads of speech at the same time completely bewildered Eileen.

“Reading anything interesting?” Tom asked gamely.

“I…” Quick Eileen, what’s the name of that Muggle novel you’re reading? “ _Vanity Fair._ ”

“ _Vanity Fair_.” Eileen could see him thinking, and it was not a pleasant sight. “Y’mean that old magazine?”

“No. The Thackery novel.”

“Never heard of him. Stick to the paperbacks m’self.”

“Ah.” 

Tom made a few more brave assays, but, as they could only talk of the unseasonably warm weather for so long, his attention was captured by the lively debate about the upcoming rugby match. Eileen did not feel she had lost much in the change.

“Oi! Tobias!” one of the men (what was his name?) hailed, just as Eileen had resigned herself to an evening of ambivalent anonymity.

“Look what the cat’s dragged in,” Tobias laughed, claiming a chair at the end of the table with the authority of a prince ascending his throne. “Tom, you didn’t tell me Marge’s friends were so easy on the eyes. We should’ve done this before.” His eyes were on Cly’s perfect face while he said this, of course, and he shook her hand smartly, adding, “Sorry I’m so late. I’m sure one of these other blokes has already won you over.”

Cly shook her head and gave him a saucy smile. “I don’t know what Tom told you, but we’re only here for the pints and the company.”

“That’s right, you’re career women. Too bright for the likes of us. And who are you?”

When the full force of his attention was turned on her, Eileen’s mouth went dry. He was just shy of being handsome—his eyes were a little too sunken, his nose a little too crooked for the word—but his body vibrated with youth and strength. Something about the way he moved commanded attention, and he drew eyes to him the way the moon draws the tide.

“M…my name’s Eileen,” she said, grimacing at the unwanted tremor in her voice. But the way that his warm, calloused hand enclosed hers so perfectly made her face grow hot. She shook her hair forward automatically, attempting to cover her blush, but the light in his eyes told her that she had failed miserably.

“Nice to meet you. I like that name. How’s the beer?”

“F…fine.” Stupid! Why couldn’t she think?

“That’s good to hear. Usually it’s weaker than water.”

“Oh.” Merlin, could the floor please open and swallow her already?

“I’ll have one all the same,” he said, letting go of her hand and signaling to the bar.

Eileen snatched her hand back to grip her mug, savoring the lingering sensation of his touch as much as she was berating herself for acting like an idiot. Tobias dominated the party--the first among equals--with the perfect timing, the perfect compliment, the perfect story. Cly was distinguished early as his object, and she accepted the gift as her right.

He was only a Muggle. She shouldn’t have cared. But Eileen had never been more jealous of her sister than she was that night.

II. Verbundenheit

(Attachment)

2 October 1955

Although Eileen belonged to another parish, she liked to attend service at Cokeworth Priory whenever she could get away with it. She and Cly shared a flat in Coldfield that was a stone’s throw closer to the Priory than it was to St. Paul’s, and the sisters used this as an excuse to avoid the rest of their family most of the time. Today Eileen made the trek alone, and happy to be so. Cly had been sick all week with a cold, and between midwifing and nursing her sister, Eileen was quite ready for a break from the demands of the needy. She sat near the front, out of habit as much as devotion, and said her prayers as well as a young and melancholic mind could do.

Near the end of the service, she felt as though someone was watching her. She dismissed the notion several times, but the sensation would not dissipate, and she risked a surreptitious glance around the neat little church. To her great surprise she discovered Tobias Snape standing across the aisle and most definitely staring at her. He inclined his head to her and she found herself smiling at him with an ease she had been unable to muster that other night in the pub. He returned her smile with a grin of his own that was surely too wide for church use, and a traitorous blush flamed her cheeks as she snapped her eyes back to the front. She mustn’t think too much of little things like that. A man like Tobias must be used to seeing friends everywhere he went. 

She did her best to forget him, and had all but succeeded as she made her way to the street after the service. The steady stream of worshipers clogging the sidewalk separated her from her bicycle, and she opted to wait rather than push through the crowd. She was debating whether or not Cly would want anything for dinner when her thoughts were interrupted by a voice that made her stomach flip the way it did when she flew.

“Oi! Miss Prince!” Tobias called.

The crowd had thinned out some and Eileen turned, her agitation causing her to grimace. His springy step brought him to her side in an instant and he gave her a self-deprecating grin. 

“Pardon me. I shouldn’t say ‘Oi’ to a lady,” he confided. “Mother, God rest her, would have my hide.” 

“It’s fine,” she replied. His voice made her feel warm from the inside out, and that stupid blush was heating up her face yet again.

“How’s that sister of yours?”

Never mind. Of course he was only after Cly. “I’m afraid she’s ill.”

“Nothing terminal I hope.”

“No. A cold. She’s on the mend. I’ll tell her you said hello.”

“Do that. I’m sorry to hear she’s sick but, between you and me, I’m otherwise delighted to have you to myself.”

Her eyebrow shot up. “You are?”

“You seem surprised.”

“Shouldn’t I be?”

He gave her a once over, as though she were an interesting riddle he was attempting to decipher. “You were so quiet the other night at the pub. Still waters run deep. Do you have time for a walk or do you have to get back to nursing the invalid?”

“I’m not working today.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” His eyes were hypnotic, and when he held out his arm to her, slipping her hand into was the most natural thing in the world. 

They started down the street at an easy pace, dodging running children. This part of Cokeworth was the least shabby, although the scars of the War peeked out from the cheaply done repair-work; an ungainly blend of the shiny and the shattered. The leaves clinging to the trees were an unattractive brown, but the sun was shining and the air was pleasantly crisp and invigorating. 

“So, why midwifing?” he asked easily.

“Pardon me?” she replied, bristling at the abruptness of the question.

“It’s just that most girls get married instead of working. Or they take some job washing and cooking somewhere. But midwifing, you could make a career of that.”

“Cly started it.”

“But you went along with it. Somehow I don’t think it’s easy to talk you into doing something you don’t have a mind to do already.”

This picture of herself amused her and she found herself explaining, “I wanted to work as a doctor. But apparently nobody wants to train a woman to be a doctor. Or hire one even if she could get herself training. Cly got the idea of becoming midwives, and the rest, I suppose, is history.”

“A doctor! I can see you as a doctor. Dr Prince.”

“You’re teasing me.”

His playful tone turned earnest. “No, not at all. I could tell you were whip smart the minute I saw you. I wouldn’t tease you about that.”

Something about the tilt of his head made her believe him, and she realized that the knot of nerves in her stomach had unkinked. One corner of her mouth curved upwards and she said, “But you’d tease me about everything else.”

“Nah. Not everything. Do you like midwifing?”

“I like it well enough. You work at the mill, I assume?”

“I do for now, but it’s temporary. I’m not smart like you, but I have no intention of breaking my back in that hellhole for the rest of my life. Why haven’t I seen you in Cokeworth before?”

“I live in Coldfield.”

“Ah! A lady. Why dirty the hem of your skirt with Cokeworth Priory? Don’t you have a pretty little chapel up your way?”

“The pastor’s a heretic.”

He laughed; a warm, sensual sound. “Those are my favorite kinds.”

She was grinning at him, and she was as relaxed as if she had been joking with her sister. “Actually I like to take a break from Coldfield when I can. The family is there. They can be…difficult.”

“That’s to be expected. A smart girl like you probably upsets them. I’ll bet you have a pack of idiot brothers at home you can think circles around, and they hate you for it.”

This was closer to home than she cared to admit, and she deflected, “What about you? You mentioned that your mother passed away.”

“Yes, not long after the War ended, God bless her. My old man didn’t make it through, and she never really recovered from it.”

“I’m sorry. You must miss them.”

“I do miss Mother, especially in the Fall. She liked watching the leaves change color. But my old man was meaner than the devil himself. The world’s a better place without him.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t be disrespecting the dead. Especially to a lady like yourself.”

“It’s alright. You’re honest.”

“I try to be.”

“What do you want to do besides work in the mill?”

“Smoke cigars and read trashy novels.”

The gloom of the previous minutes dispersed immediately. “No, really.”

“Really. But I do a little of this and a little of that. I’m good at getting things done for people. Eventually I’ll turn that into enough that I can put the mill days behind me. Hopefully before the mill crushes my soul.”

He pressed his hand to his heart and adopted a posture of despair so comical that Eileen laughed in spite of herself.

“I like that sound,” he said, catching her hand and pressing it between his.

“Pardon me?” Her laughter died on her lips as her self-consciousness reared its head.

“Your laugh. Now I’ve gone and ruined it. I’ll have to try harder next time. Can I walk you home?”

“No. It’s too far. And I should go check on Cly. My bicycle is back at the church.”

“Can I walk you to your bicycle at least?”

“I suppose.”

They had made a circuit of the block and before long they were nearing the Priory steps. She mounted her bicycle in silence, hyper-aware of him watching her every move. He held onto the handlebars as she swung her leg over the frame, and he didn’t let go. When she was finally brave enough to glance up at him, his eyes were imploring.

“Can I see you again?” he asked earnestly, letting go of her bicycle and taking off his bowler to her. “Will you be here next week?”

“I…” Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? “I expect the priest in Coldfield will still be a heretic next week.”

“Is that a yes?”

She nodded once, pushing off the cobblestones and peddling away with the wind whipping through her hair.

“You look like a Valkyrie!” he called after her.

Eileen’s heart skipped at the compliment, and as she turned towards home she risked a look back at him. 

He was watching her, his bowler held over his heart, and he was smiling.

III. Liebe

(Love)

23 October 1955

Every other Sunday, Eileen and Cly paid out a penance for their independent lives in the form of attending a family dinner at the Prince home in Coldfield. Their brothers Castor and Pollux still lived there, exactly the way that their parents would have wished their wayward daughters to do. Today was one such Sunday, and the whole family was gathered around the table in the oppressive dining room; a picture of harmony and accord.

The meal had been a quiet one, dominated by a dialogue between Mary Prince and Pollux, her favorite son, punctuated at intervals by Menelaus agreeing with something or other that his wife had said. They were a strange family, split down the middle into factions of those who talked, and those who thought; those with magic, and those who pretended that magic did not exist. Usually these meals were an excruciating mixture of boredom and shame, but today Eileen had her heart girded up with a secret that kept it buoyant with bliss.

“Eileen,” Mary said, causing her daughter to startle out of her daydream. “What is this Clytemnestra tells me about your gadding about town with a young man?”

“I…” Eileen began, taken aback by the unexpected attack. Cly stood in the doorway behind their mother with the teapot in her hands, and she helplessly mouthed _Sorry_ to her older sister and ducked out of the room to avoid the conflict. “I wouldn’t say I’ve been gadding, Mother.” 

“But you have been going around with someone, then?”

“Yes.” Eileen started twisting the napkin on her lap as she tensed her body for battle.

“Who is he? What’s his name?”

“His name is Tobias Snape. He works at the mill in Cokeworth.”

Mary sniffed. “I see. And is he… _different_? Is he like you?”

 _Different_ to Mary Prince was the worst thing a person could be. It was a term she applied to Eileen as often as she possibly could. “If you’re asking if he can do magic, no. He’s a Muggle.”

“A Muggle?” asked Castor. Her eldest brother never bothered to notice her except to criticize, whether it be about her flying, or her charm work, or her appalling lack of social skills. “Really, Eileen. And you a Slytherin.”

“Muggles do have their appeal,” Menelaus commented quietly, glancing at his Muggle wife but, as usual, she and her sons ignored him.

“This is what comes of letting the girls live out on their own,” Pollux put in unhelpfully.

“What?” Eileen said, her nerves turning to anger. “That I start seeing a decent, gainfully employed Muggle? Like yourself?”

Pollux colored and Castor took over the attack while Mary sipped her tea and observed the fray. “Eileen, if you could bother yourself to make an effort, you could do much better than some lowlife millworker from Cokeworth of all places. Where did you even meet him?”

“At the Mill House,” Eileen replied, thrilling at how horrified they would be to hear it.

“You see?” Castor sneered. “Put him out of your mind and come with me to Malfoy’s house-party next weekend. And let Cly help you do something with your hair. We’ll set you up with someone proper, I’m sure.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I don’t think I will.” Eileen pushed away from her place and flicked her wand rebelliously at the table, causing the dishes to start clattering through the air to the kitchen. “Excuse me. I’m going to go help Cly with the dishes. We both have to work early tomorrow.”

Mary watched the flagrant display of magic with an expression like she had swallowed a lemon. “Yes. I’m sure you do.”

Half an hour later, Eileen and Cly were walking briskly away from their childhood home, becoming lighter with every step they put between themselves and its hallowed walls. Eileen pointedly avoided looking at Cly, although her sister attempted to catch her eye. After a block or two of this game, Cly pulled out a cigarette and held it out as a peace offering.

“Forgive me?” she asked, her eyes wide and her lips pouting.

Eileen rolled her eyes and took the cigarette. “I always do.”

“I didn’t mean to tell her! But Mother’s like a bloodhound for finding out secrets. She was going to find out eventually.”

“I know, I know. I’d just hoped to have it all to myself for a little longer.” The sisters slowed their pace now that the house was out of sight, smoking and enjoying the night air together. After a time, Eileen glanced at Cly and admitted, “I told Tobias that I’m a witch.”

“You didn’t!” Cly exclaimed, swatting Eileen’s shoulder with a laugh. “I can’t believe it! You haven’t even been seeing him a month and he’s gotten that far under your skin? How far’s he got under your skirt?”

“Cly!” Eileen blushed bright red. “He’s been a perfect gentleman. Just a kiss here and there. Nothing to tell Mother about.”

“Hey, I said I was sorry! And I hope he’s not too much of a gentleman. You need to relax. How did he take it?”

“Well. Very well.” Eileen took a drag of the cigarette and smiled softly. “He calls me Circe.”

“That’s cute!”

“And he asks all kinds of questions. I lent him a few books.”

“And he read them?”

“He did. And he has some good insights too. He’s got me thinking about spells and potions in a completely new way. He can’t do any of the magic of course, but he can see ways to bend it that have never occurred to me before.”

“You’re a goner, I can tell.”

“Maybe. You know, it feels the way it did when Grandfather Severus taught me my first spells as a little girl. Magic was a living thing then, a force that could be directed and shaped in infinite ways. Being at Hogwarts felt like trapping it into a box instead.”

Cly finished her cigarette and flicked the butt away. “I was so jealous of you and Castor when we were little.”

“I know. Are you still?”

“Nah. Magic it’s downsides. And being a Muggle’s not so bad. Especially when I have a sister who’ll take me for a broom ride once in a while.”

“I’m going to take him flying.”

“No! Are you in love? You must be in love. You could get in all sorts of trouble from Father and the magical folks, couldn’t you? What if they break your wand?”

“I don’t think it’d be that serious. Besides, I’ll only get in trouble if I get caught. And I won’t get caught.” 

Cly caught her in a warm embrace and kissed her cheek. “I’m so happy for your, Eileen. Really. If you think Tobias is worth your time, he must be something special.

Eileen had to agree.

IV. Glaube

(Trust)

6 November 1955

It was the perfect night.

Fall had wrapped its chilly arms around the world, but the bite in the air was invigorating; stirring the blood rather than freezing it. Eileen and Tobias had taken the train out to Cannock Chase for the day, picnic and broom charmed into Eileen’s bag for safekeeping. They had whiled away the afternoon, wandering the streets of the picturesque town to the edge of it, where the forest waited, promising to hide their dallying from curious eyes. She knew it was madness to bring him here, madness to take him up in the sky; but she didn’t care. After a lifetime of being trapped, he had broken down the door of her prison, and all her wants could now run rampant and free. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” She asked when the sun finally set.

“Oh, yes. I’ve been waiting all my life for this,” he replied eagerly.

She swung her leg over her broom with more confidence than she’d ever felt, his watchful gaze making her feel beautiful and strong. He mounted up behind her, and wrapped his arms lightly around her waist. Trembling now, she pushed off the ground before she could think better of it. As they tore up into the ether, his arms tightened around her and he sucked in his breath, laughing and gasping at the same time. Encouraged, she executed a lazy dive, and his body fell flush against her back. She shivered and burned in equal measure as she fought to keep her attention on what she was doing. She was not a natural flyer; she had to think about every movement, had to visualize her magic keeping the broom aloft. His intoxicating energy distracted her, even as it called her to plunge into it and be lost.

“My God, Circe,” he breathed in her ear, clinging to her as they shot back into the sky.

It was colder above the tree-line, and the vapor hanging in the night air kissed their skin. She willed the broom to hover for a time, that they might feast on the sight of the world below. Just as she was congratulating herself for keeping the broom so steady, he brushed his lips against the back of her neck. The broom jerked and dropped a few feet before she got it back under control, but he laughed at the danger, completely unconcerned.

“Don’t distract me!” she chided. “We’ll fall.”

“We could never fall,” he countered. 

His confidence was catching, and as she willed the broom forward she was tempted into all sorts of tricks. Rolls and loops, in and out of the tree tops, flirting with the stars, and soaring with a freedom she’d never felt. Tobias urged her on, enraptured by her every move, and she kept on until she was dizzy with the effort.

He rolled off the broom when they landed, lying on his back and laughing up at the darkened sky. 

“How soon can we do that again?” he demanded.

“I need a break,” she replied, pleased by his enthusiasm. “Soon though, if you like.”

“I like very much.”

They ate and flew and talked and flew and, near the witching hour of the night, he caught her and pushed her hard against a tree, lifting her off the ground with the ardor of his embrace. His hands and his lips were hot on each inch of flesh he exposed; and the cold of the night mingled with the heat of his passion to leave Eileen gasping and clinging to him as though the world were falling away beneath her.

At last he pulled back long enough to say in a voice thick and rough, “We should go. We’ll miss the train. Unless we can fly back?”

“No, we can’t do that.” Was that breathless voice really hers? “If we were seen we’d both be in more trouble than we could get out of.”

“Mustn’t run afoul of the magical police or whatever you call them,” he mocked.

“Aurors.”

“Then we should go.” His fingers were stroking the nape of her neck and his lips were on her throat. “Unless…”

“What?” she whispered.

“Unless you don’t want to go.”

She shivered in his arms and he laughed at her response. “You know I don’t want to go,” she protested. “But how could we stay? We’ll freeze out here. I didn’t bring a tent and magic can only keep us both warm for so long.”

“There was a hotel back in town as I remember.” His fingers and lips teased without remorse.

“I…” Merlin she did want to stay. It wasn’t as though she were a child. And Cly wouldn’t say anything…would she?

“Eileen…”

Her name in his mouth was a prayer of supplication and she was undone; transformed into a goddess of mercy ready to grant his desire.

The ease with which the lies tripped off her tongue to the clerk at the hotel and to Cly the next day troubled her. But Tobias had said it was inevitable. And she told herself, by way of comfort, that surely he was right.

V. Anbetung

(Worship)

8 January 1956

In spite of the frozen night, the younger generation of the Prince family, along with Tobias Snape, gathered on the back porch after dinner. Castor and Eileen provided the warming charms, while Cly and Pollux provided the cigarettes. Tobias, being a guest, was only required to provide attention and interest, which he did perfectly.

“I think I see Orion’s belt,” Cly said, shivering as she stared up through the glare of the electric lighting.

“During the war you could see everything,” Tobias said between puffs. “Only good thing about the Blitz was the blackout at night.”

“That must have been terrible,” Eileen murmured.

“It was. Terrible and wonderful at the same time. It was sort of thrilling not knowing if you’d wake up dead.”

Pollux scoffed. “How old were you? Twenty? Must’ve been nice to be safe at home.”

Cly frowned at her brother. “I wouldn’t call being in the Blitz exactly safe.”

“I was fifteen,” Tobias said, unfazed by Pollux’s malice. “Worked in the Mill while my old man got himself killed on the Continent. How about you? Were you under Dowdling or Montgomery?”

“I was in Scotland with the rest of the family,” Pollux said tersely.

“Very brave of you, I’m sure.” Tobias’s voice was smooth as silk.

“Someone had to look after mother,” Pollux snapped back.

This made Tobias grin. “Look after Mrs Prince? That bitch can take care of herself, and the rest of you besides. The mouth on her would’ve sent the bombs scrambling right back up into the planes that dropped ‘em.”

“Tobias,” Eileen chided half-heartedly. “You shouldn’t call Mother a bitch.”

“Why not?” he asked, wickedness glittering in his eyes. “She is one, ain't she?

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Snape,” Castor said coldly. He flicked his wand, vanishing Tobias’s cigarette mid-puff. “It would appear that you’ve finished your smoke. Shouldn’t you be heading home? I’m sure you have work in the morning.”

Tobias returned Castor’s glare with a nonchalant shrug. “Suppose I do. See me out, Eileen?”

She rose obediently and took his hand, biting her lips to keep from laughing. Her brothers’ eyes bored into her back, but she ignored them, marveling at how Tobias had managed to get away with saying such things without Castor hexing him. It made her stomach flip with excitement every time he did. He had a knack for saying the cruel truths that everyone thought, but everyone pretended to ignore. It was one of the many things she loved about him.

When they reached the street, and were sheltered from the house by the hedgerow, her laughter broke free—at least until he had pushed her up against gate and stopped her laughter with his mouth.

“Come home with me?” he asked.

“Not tonight,” she replied, regretfully. “I’ve got rounds in an hour. Mrs Rawlings is about to have her sixth.”

“Pity. Tomorrow then?”

“Perfect.”

“Can you meet me early at the pub? Say six o’clock? There’s a little something I could use your help with.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Alright. What is it?”

He kissed her intimidating eyebrow until she laughed again. “You’ll see. Bring your wand.”

“I always do.”

Tobias stole another kiss and set off with his springy step towards home. Eileen went back into the house to say a dutiful goodnight and collect her bag. As she passed the tiny room at the front of the house that her father used for his study, he waved her in. She kissed his cheek and he caught her hand for a moment, pressing it fondly.

“This Tobias fellow, I can see that you like him,” Menelaus said when she was settled in a rickety chair, long since banished from the dining room to this mean service.

“I do, Father.” There was no sense in hiding what must be plainly written on her face. “But I expect that Mother doesn’t.”

“Mother needs time to become accustomed to new people.”

“I know. Maybe in a decade or so she’ll decide he’s acceptable.”

“Hush now.”

“Do you like him?”

“He seems decent enough. But I will say I’m a little surprised that you’ve chosen a Muggle rather than a wizard.”

“I haven’t chosen anyone yet,” she protested.

Menelaus gave her a smile, heavy with the burden of knowledge. “Well, when you do choose, be sure you choose wisely.” 

He picked up the paper, flipping it open as though the interview were over. Eileen stood, but she paused at the door.

“Father?”

“Yes, Eileen?”

“Are you happy? With Mother I mean.”

“Of course I am.”

She nodded and went out of the room. Like Cly, her father was a terrible liar.

*****

9 January 1956

“Eileen, there you are!” Tobias waved her over to the table in the corner, where he was sitting with an older man she didn’t recognize. They both stood as she approached, and she blushed prettily while Tobias kissed her cheek and introduced her. “Eileen, I want you to meet Donald Murphy. He’s a supervisor down at the Mill. Donald, this is Eileen Prince, midwife and keeper of my poor lost heart.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Prince,” Donald said, shaking her hand firmly. 

“And you,” she replied. As they sat, Eileen couldn’t help but catch the air of tension between the two men.

“We’ve been discussing a business opportunity. Tobias wanted you here to clarify some things,” Donald explained with a note of suspicion in his voice.

“I see.” Eileen’s eyebrows knitted together and she felt Tobias’s foot on hers under the table.

“Eileen’s my good luck charm, aren’t you girl?” Tobias said.

“I suppose I am,” she murmured.

“Now, are there any more questions you need to ask me, or are you ready to make good on your promise to help?” Tobias asked.

Donald’s brow furrowed. “You know I like you Tobias, and I’d be happy to help you get a leg up, but I just don’t know.”

“I understand. It’s a lot of money. I wouldn’t ask, but that you had said you were so interested before.”

“It’s not the money, it’s the risk. You’ll excuse me for saying it, but you’ve been a millworker for your whole life. I have a hard time believing that you’ll be able to make anything out of all this money, even if I do give it to you.”

Eileen bristled at this, but Tobias seemed to take it in stride.

“You’re right sir,” Tobias said. “I’d probably lose the whole packet.”

“There. I’m glad you’re willing to see reason so easily,” Donald agreed.

“Eileen, could you do me the favor of a little _confundus_ right about now?” Tobias asked calmly.

“What?” Donald said stupidly, just as the hex hit him. Eileen didn’t know why she obeyed Tobias in that moment. Maybe it was because she was angry at Donald Murphy for humiliating Tobias in front of her. Or maybe it was because she was used to doing as Tobias asked without question. Or maybe it was, as Tobias suggested later, just because she could.

“What do you want him to do?” Eileen asked Tobias as Donald sat staring at them in a confused daze.

“Just get him to sign the paper like he promised me he would last week,” Tobias encouraged.

“Mr Murphy, you did mean to sign that paper, didn’t you?” Eileen asked, enjoying having this Muggle in her power far more than she wanted to admit.

“Paper?” Donald mumbled. “Yes, I did want to sign it.”

In a minute it was done, in another minute Donald was shaking hands with Tobias and making his good-byes. When Donald was gone, Tobias snatched up the paper and tucked into his jacket, wrapping an arm around Eileen’s shoulders as he did.

“You’ll do, my girl,” Tobias said warmly. “You really are my good luck charm.”

“Well, if that man did promise to help you, he should stick to his promise,” she replied.

“Exactly so. And I expect that clever charm of yours’ll come in handy from time to time.”

“Time to time?” she echoed. “I don’t understand.”

“It’ll take more than one investor to get this business off the ground. And some of them might be reluctant to support an idiot millworker like myself, even if they’ve already promised they would.”

“I don’t know, Tobias. It’s one thing to take you flying. It’s another to go around hexing Muggles.”

“Hexing is such a strong word. And I don’t expect I’ll need as much as that every time. Just promise me you’ll sit in on the discussions, and we’ll take it as it comes.”

“I…”

His other hand was under the table, making circles on her thigh. “Your fool family might not appreciate your worth—but _I_ do. You won’t let me down, will you?”

“Oh…Tobias.” It was an argument she had already lost and she knew it.

His laugh sent shivers down her spine, but whether from pleasure or from anxiety, it was hard to determine.

“You won’t disappoint me.” 

“No. I guess I won’t.”

VI. Wahnsinn

(Madness)

9 June 1956

“What do you mean, you won’t do it anymore?” Tobias demanded, frowning at her over the paper.

“You heard me. I’m done. You’ve made a pile of money and it’s time to get out, before the Aurors catch on,” Eileen replied without looking up from the lavender and valerian she was chopping for Sleeping Draughts. All the windows in the little flat were open in a vain attempt to start a cross breeze, and sweat was dripping down Eileen’s back uncomfortably. Cly was working today, for which Eileen was grateful. She had more than one thing to tell Tobias that she suspected he wasn’t going to like.

“Now, how is helping me get ahead a little any different from sneaking potions to ladies at the clinic?”

“You know it’s different. A sympathetic Auror would look the other way if he caught me helping people. But he wouldn’t look the other way if he caught me robbing people.”

“It ain’t robbing if they give it away willingly.”

Her knife slipped and she dropped it on the counter, narrowly avoiding taking a chunk out of her thumb. “It _is_ robbing,” she insisted, her voice rising angrily. “Those people gave you money to start a business that doesn’t exist. It’s one thing to take a little bit to get started in life. It’s another to go on fleecing people with no end in sight.”

Tobias unfolded himself from the chair and prowled towards her like a jungle cat. He dropped his newspaper carelessly on top of her potions work and continued around the table to her. She was unaware that she was backing away from him until she ran into the bookshelf behind her. His smile was sharp, and her heart was hammering in her chest—but not from passion.

 _Take your wand out if you’re afraid, dummy_ she chided herself. But this was Tobias. He loved her. He was just playing one of his little games. Games she usually—to her shame—enjoyed. She raised her chin and pursed her lips; she wasn’t in the mood for play.

His hand snapped up and he wrapped his fingers around her throat. His touch was light, she could feel the callouses on his fingers scraping the surface of her skin. But the power held taut in the lightness of his grip was as terrible as if he had crushed her windpipe in one brutal wrench. The world constricted to his hand on her neck and the mocking smile on his face. She was in his thrall—worse than a slave—his dog to kick and do with as he chose.

“My dear Circe,” he cooed, “I think you know exactly what you are going to do.”

“Of course Tobias,” she submitted. “Whatever you want.”

He dragged his fingers down her throat, over her breast, and around to her back to pull her in for a kiss. She could think nothing, feel nothing. Mercifully he left soon after without pressing for more. She leaned against the bookshelf for ages, for eons, until feeling came back to her. It was a shaking feeling, a wretched feeling. She was a beast. She was worse than a beast—and he was the devil.

The sun had gone down and she could barely see by the time she was able to move again. She pulled out her wand, desperate for a light to dispel the darkness.

“ _Lumos_.” she cast.

Nothing happened.

“ _Lumos_.”

Nothing.

“ _Lumos_. _Lumos_. _Lumos_!”

Her voice was high and choked; she did not even recognize it as her own. When the faint, feeble light finally appeared at the tip of her wand, her eyes blurred with tears. She sobbed with relief, but then a vile hatred welled up in her, and she threw her wand across the room, shrouding it in darkness. With a wild cry, she sprang away from the bookshelf, smashing the glassware, hurling the cauldron to the floor, ruining all her work and her precious stores of ingredients. In the midst of her wanton destruction, she tripped over the cauldron and her head struck the table as she went down. 

The blow took some of the fight out of her, and she lay panting quietly on the floor. As she surveyed the results of her violence, her heart gradually stopped racing. Finally she coughed and whispered, “ _Accio_ , wand.”

It flew to her hand, and with a quick _Evanesco_ the mess was gone. She shuddered and hurried to the loo, barely making it to the toilet before she started to retch. God, she hated Tobias, hated him for what he had done—but she hated herself more. She laid on the floor in the loo, wallowing in asphyxiating misery, until Cly come home.

“Eileen, are you home?” Cly called as she flipped on the electric lights.

“I’m in the loo, Cly,” Eileen called back, her voice hollow, but steady. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Hash okay for dinner?”

“Have whatever you want. I already ate.”

Eileen crawled into the bathtub and flipped on the shower. She sat there, letting the water run over her, until it was as cold and bitter as her tears.

VII. Tod

(Death)

10 June 1956

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Tobias said the next morning. They were walking together after church through the light rain, neither of them noticing the damp.

“I wasn’t sure I would either,” Eileen replied.

He flinched as though she’d slapped him, and she noted that his eyes were red. “I deserve that.”

They walked until they reached the tiny patch of green that served for a park across from the Mill House. The rain had driven away the Sunday crowd, and they had the place to themselves. By unspoken agreement they sat down together on a bench, but they avoided each other’s eyes.

“I’m pregnant,” Eileen said, breaking the heavy silence with heavier news. “I’m sorry.”

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. The dam holding back her tears broke, and she cried until the front of his shirt was wet through.

“Shhh…it’s alright Circe. Everything’ll be alright,” he soothed, stroking her back and rocking her as she sobbed.

“But…”

“No buts. I’m going to take care of you and the little tyke, don’t you worry about that. I intended to marry you sooner or later. Sure, I thought it would be later, but sooner suits me too.”

She peeked up at him and saw the smile on his lips and the tears in his eyes. Her heart melted completely, and she asked, “Are you sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure. It’ll take me a couple of weeks to set everything up, but then there’s nothing else to wait for. Will that suit you?”

The events of the day before slid to the back of her mind, and she pushed them down into a box to hide. Surely that had been a mistake, an aberration. It would never happen again.

“Yes. That’ll suit me just fine.”

*****

30 August 1956

It took until the beginning of July for Eileen to trade the name of Prince for that of Snape, and move into his terraced house at Spinner’s End. She’d set up a potions room in the basement and planted a garden in the back yard. It would be small this year, as there was only time for a fall harvest, but next year would be better. Next year had to be better. Anything would be better than this wretched summer had been. 

She was in the kitchen, overseeing a set of paring knives that were peeling apples for dinner while she sautéed the roast for the oven. From time to time her vision was obscured by tears, and she wiped them away listlessly in order to keep them from souring the dinner. She jumped when Tobias’s arms went around her waist. These days she didn’t seem to notice anything unless it fell on top of her. But then she relaxed into his embrace. He’d been nothing but sweet since she’d agreed to marry him. And he’d been particularly solicitous of late.

“Smells good, Circe,” he said, kissing the top of her head and turning her to face him. “But you’re crying again. There’s no need for that.”

“I know. It doesn’t do any good,” Eileen said, even as the tears came faster.

“You’re tired. You sit down and let me finish this,” he ordered, steering her into a chair. He put the kettle on as he took over at the range. “What’re the waterworks for today?”

She was struggling to stop the tears, she knew he didn’t like to see them. “It’s just the baby again.”

“Now, you know that there’s no reason to think there won’t be other babies. It just wasn’t the right time. I’m sure that soon enough we’ll be knee-deep in progeny with your magic and my good-looks.”

She choked on a laugh. “I know that. I’m just sorry is all. We wouldn’t have had to get married so fast if we’d known it was going to end the way it did.”

“For the hundredth time, woman, I’m not mad about it. I’m lucky to have you tied to me now before you got it in your head to run off with some other bloke.”

His flippant remark made her shiver with a mixture of fear and delight. Pleasure and pain seemed all twisted together with them, and she wasn’t sure if it was possible to have the one without the other.

“Your sister’s coming over for dinner, right?” he asked.

“Yes. She just wants to check on me, I think.”

“As she should. We’re all going to take good care of you, Circe, from here on. I promise.”

The apples finished peeling and chopping themselves and floated into the pot on the stove. Tobias deftly took over making the sauce, and a feeling of peace and calm replaced the shiver that had troubled Eileen earlier.

“I believe you,” she said. 

And she meant it.

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to Jane Bunbury and Mr T. for their beta work. Without their support and encouragement, I never would have finished this story. Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> The section headings are inspired by the seven stages of love described in the Sufi tradition.
> 
> Edited for spelling and grammar on 17 January 2021


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